Thursday, January 18, 2007

There are many different kinds of farts in the world. I once had a book (or what passes in my house as a reference manual) called The Fart Book that detailed a great many of them. For example, there was the Mud Sucker Fart, a fart that emulates the sound that occurs when you get your shoe stuck in the mud and slowly have to pull it out. I've pulled this one off a few times, and after each one I then had to A) Check my pants to ensure that I didn't shit myself, and B) Went and wiped my ass just to make sure.

This also causes the phenomenon I like to call the Phantom Shit. When some soldiers get their limbs blown off in battle, they often still feel the lost arm twitching and moving. Such is the case with the Phantom Shit, where your brain tricks you into thinking the shit is there, though that isn't the case. But you always check to make sure.

Now, the different types of farts chronicled in that book largely had to do with the kind of noise the fart made. Whereas I, on the other hand, prefer to go strictly by aroma and the food the inspired them. I am a sommelier, if you will, of expelled gas. And this week I found a vintage that really, really caught my fancy.

Now there are standard food-induced farts that we are all familiar with. For example, there is the Mexican Food Fart, which ends up smelling like scrambled eggs for no real reason. A huevos asscheros, if you will. Then there is the Chinese Food Fart, which smells exactly like Chinese food itself. This makes sense, since most takeout Chinese food is glazed with an industrial polymer so strong, it defies even the meanest bile and stomach acid. General Tso in = General Tso out.

Anyone who reads this site is no doubt familiar with the Beer Fart, which smells like a turd that's been marinating overnight in ammonia and vinegar. And, of course, there is the Turkey Fart, a holiday staple as old as plum pudding itself. I farted so much over Thanksgiving, my wife wouldn't speak to me by the end of the night. By morning, the stench of the farts had actually embedded itself in our couch, like some sort of invisible stain. We flipped the cushions.

Well now, I have found a champion among specific-food-induced farts, and it goes by the title of...

The Zucchini Bread Fart.

A couple weeks ago, Mrs. Drew made some zucchini bread. Why? I don't know. This is not exactly the world's most scintillating foodstuff. Zucchini bread is like carrot cake without the nuts or cream cheese frosting (Note: when eating carrot cake, I eat ONLY the cream cheese frosting). It's hardly exciting. But I make it a strict policy in life to eat and drink anything that happens to be around. So I ate it.

Oh, the smell. Like someone came up behind you and strangled you to within an inch of your life, only without the odd sexual gratification. It was brutal. I almost called a gastroenterologist. I'd eaten half the loaf before I'd realized what I had done. What the fuck is in zucchini bread that's so lethal? When I eat zucchini regularly, I don't produce anal discharge that could kill the entire Kurdish population. Some sort of chemical reaction had turned this shit into straight-up Butt Plutonium. It's as nasty as a Lennox Lewis uppercut. And nowhere near as queer. So be warned: Avoid the zucchini bread.

Your Meast of the Week is Deuce McAllister of the Saints.

You know the deal here. Got a lot of yards, brought 14 Eagles into the end zone with him. When the Saints drafted Reggie Bush, the Deuce didn't bitch. He just went out and got fucking better. That's measty behavior, Deuce. I can think of no better person (and no better-named person) to gift-wrap that last half of the zucchini bread to.

NOTE: Your favorites farts are welcome in the comments. Why not stay and make a day of it?

BDD, This post really conveys your true love and passion for all things flatulent, and I can just feel the absolute glee that you must have felt while writing this post. I must now chastise myself for laughung like a 13year old at your toilet humor. Good shit.

I would recommend giving the wife the classic dutch oven next time you decide to eat half a loaf of zucchini bread. I'm betting the humor in the inevitable next day post far outweighs the sacrifice of burning the wife's nasal passages.

Wonder what James Lofton's farts smell like..Al Davis will find out soon enough if he hires him for the coaching job because that guy will have lots of gas..with a good possibility of shitting himself regularly.

Okay, where are the military readers? Anyone who's ever been to the field for more than a day knows that MRE's compress your feces into a hot, gaseous state. It's such an impressive wonder of science, you can hardly get upset at the smell.

Favorite fart? that's like asking Tank Johnson to pick his favorite assault weapon or Tony Gwynn his favorite donut chain. The answer? They're all good. Let's see...should I go with the time I blew ass in 8th grade history and successfully shifted blame to the teacher? or the time I was crossing the Tijuana border and killed a drug-sniffing german shepherd who got too close to my bucket leather seats? or how about when I stood on a peak in the Bavarian Alps, held a magnifying glass to my ass and fried lederhosen clad villagers below one by one with my sauerkraut, schweinhaxen and Lowenbrau fueled fury?

I would like to toss the "leg o' lamb fart" into the mix. After a dinner that includes lamb, you can pretty much bank of your morning emissions smelling like a 3 day-old moose carcass or a pile of beaver pelts. Dank, warm, and gamey. Rich and full-bodied, with hints of woodland spices, and a rotten mulberry nose. It's a perfect compliment to the morning coffee.

Feeling inspired by the always-delightful BDD and his post on Deuces, I'll share a recent transgression. Monday night, I woke up my wife from her slumber with my flatulance. Not by the sound, but by the smell alone. We had had a meal of spicy meatloaf, peas, and mashed potatoes. She awoke and said in semi-conscious speech, "oh my god, that smell. I think the dog pooped under the bed". I lied. "I already cleaned it up, go back to sleep honey."I had the leftovers for lunch again the next day. (what can I say, it was good meatloaf)

In a variation of 4giantsfans Indian theme, my own personal global killer happened on a cold winter's morning seven years ago.

The previous night began with laying the necessary foundation for an alcohol-soaked and stripper-filled bachelor party night with a hearty lamb vindaloo and a couple of samosas.

On top of that went six hours' worth of various kinds of beer (mostly cheap), tequila and bourbon. I also smoked a pack of Marlboro Reds (I have no evidence that this made the subsequent global extinction event any worse, but I like to think that it did).

I woke up the next morning with a ladyfriend from the bar screaming at me as she tore out of the bedroom, shreiking about something dying while taking a shit. Then it hit me: The worst smell ever.

I can only describe it as what would happen if you microwaved a cat that died four days before while eating saurkraut on high for 5 minutes.

Hell, I forgot all about her...I was afraid I'd broken something! This whole effort was made worse by the fact that the sheets and blanket were tucked in at the foot of the bed, leaving the only ventilation...at our heads.

Mmmmm...I should have been indicted at The Hague for war crimes due to those gases.

My girlfriend has an extremely sensitive nose, so I get to hear about every fart that I emit. But none gets a better reaction than the All Beef Frank(s). Preferably from a ballgame , smothered in some sort of onion-chili-kraut-liquid "cheese"-jalapeno melange, and joined by a dozen pre-game High Life's. The aroma can strip paint, and when focused, blast through granite.

Gyros work well too - basically any meat that doesn't resemble the animal(s) it came from.

I get some pretty noxious farts around noon after a morning of kegs & eggs. You've already got the beer farts from the night before, and then you dump more beer, scrambled eggs and bacon on top of them. I've cleared rooms.

I come from a long line of farters. My grandfather is a farter, my father is a farter, and my great-great-great uncle in Russia wrestled bears and shit himself whilst being squeezed by said orsine.

My grandfather deserves the credit that many have tried to steal from him, even on this board. I believe it was 1938 when he first attempted the feat which would become known as the "Wrong Floor." By virtue of his getting on a crowded elevator, passing gas before getting to the second floor and departing no later than the fifth, a revolution was born. The truest flatulent statesman has to wait at least two floors before departing. One has to see the look on the faces of those who are writhing in a short number of moving cubic feet.

The most diplomatic use of his skills began in 1968 when my family moved to Miami (Dad & Grandfather). Anxiously awaiting the waves of Cubans who would cross our shores and the eventual Mariel exodus, he hatched a plan. The gift would be born in a synergy of kosher salami, copious amounts of deli mustard and no shortage of thinly-sliced onion. He would decide to go to any public location, ensconce himself into a group of old Cuban ladies and let it go silently (not that you would hear anything near them). The trick is then to move away, but still close enough to see them begin to argue over who let it go.

My wife's been on an international cuisine kick for a few months, so every night our bedroom smells like a different ghetto. Pick your ethnic quarter, the characteristic smells have been in our place.

Anyway, the other night my farts had an odor we'd never smelled before. Somehow rancid, somehow rotten, somehow mysterious. But vile beyond comprehension. These farts went to the 4th dimension, containing an unmistakable sense of AGE. It was as if a mad scientist surgically implanted 20 year-old farts into my abdomen.

She was appalled beyond description, running in horror a number of times. But I was fascinated. And I never did figure out the source.

Mix lamb gyros, saganaki, fried calamari ,and beer and you get something I call "The Grecian Formula" It smells like fish covered goat turds. Ah the smells from Greek food, now I know why Albanians are so pissy.

My wife's chili is damn good. She has only made it for me twice, however. The ungodly smell (its like chili...only evil!)that it produces makes my own eyes tear up, I choke, the cat leaves the room and the wife looks at me with that "what the fuck have I done"-look that I'm sure a mother has on her face upon learing that her son is a serial rapist/murderer/republican/country singer/etc.

All I have to do is eat one bowl. Just one. And my ass eminates the noxious odor for three days. THREE DAYS, MAN! The first time (and the only time)I brought it to work I had to leave early before people started to whisper.

Stale cheetos and big macs are a deadly combination, i had to run out of my psych class with poopies dripping down my leg after i farted loud enough to interrupt the professor. My sprint to the nearest bathroom left the mess on my thighs, and clung to my boxers. needless to say i can bet that my poop filled boxers was not the best present the janitor ever recieved